


Warmth

by AFireInTheAttic



Series: Revamps [2]
Category: The Wolves of Mercy Falls - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 17:25:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16520774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AFireInTheAttic/pseuds/AFireInTheAttic
Summary: Sam and Grace go on a date the first winter after.





	Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> Initially I only edited this a bit, but then I went back through it and it doubled in length somehow. 
> 
> The original draft can be found on my ffn account. Enjoy!

The first Christmas Eve they spend together as humans is colder than the weather man predicted, and they're both paranoid, so paranoid.

Sam wears two shirts, a hoodie, and a coat, and wraps a scarf around his neck. Grace dresses similarly, but trades the scarf for that awful and adorable hat she wore their first winter, with it's silly pompom.

Sam notices. It’s the first time she’s worn it all winter, like she was saving it just for him. He flicks it and kisses her before he pulls his scarf up over his nose, and they leave the house.

They're being overcautious, and they know it, because if the cure hadn't worked, they would have shifted at temperatures a lot warmer than this. But they still hurry to the car during the day, and sleep close, close together at night, under three quilts.

Sam thinks this will never change, that they will always worry. The cold is so biting that it catches him off guard every time. There are days when he catches Grace’s eyes across the breakfast table and he sees that fear from her, too. The question is whether she’s worried that she might shift, or that he will.

(Does she still think about Olivia? Lost somewhere, with the other wolves, or...just gone?)

As long as he wakes up, sweating next to Grace—human—he will handle the fear, will push past it. And he knows she will, too.

Grace locks the door to the house while he waits in the car, wishing he had lip balm. The cold brings fear and cracked skin, and lately, split lips. It’s honestly a wonder Grace wants to kiss him at all.

Grace slides into the car, her breath coming in visible puffs. She sits in the middle of the bench so she can squish herself as close to Sam as possible. She says it's to keep warm, but he's pretty sure it's just to be close to him. That’s a nice feeling. He wonders if there’s a song in this moment. Something like—

_Warm in your embrace_  
Travelling place to place  
Press me closer  
And we’ll go further—  


No, that rhyme wasn’t quite right. He frowned, drummed his fingers on the wheel. Well, first drafts can’t be perfect.

Sam rests his hand on Grace’s leg while he drives, and she tunes the radio. So many of the stations are Christmas carols. It’s been years since he heard them with any frequency, but he could still only handle them for about a day of driving. And that had been back in November, right after Halloween. It had been nearly two months now, and he didn’t want to hear any more about a White Christmas.

He could not understand the appeal.

Grace settles on a top 40 station. It’s better than carols, even if it’s not what either of them prefer. Justin Bieber croons through the speakers, something about loving too young.

Grace traces the fingers on her thigh, gentle. Even though they’re both wearing gloves, he can feel her warmth through the layers.

* * *

 

They go to the candy shop in Duluth because, just like Cole says, they're the most predictable couple to ever walk the planet. If you ignore the whole werewolf thing.

They both take that moment, just inside the shop, to inhale everything because it's still incredible, even now, even after everything. That’s the power of chocolate.

They keep their coats on, but take their gloves off. Grace takes her hat off, too, and puts it in her pocket. Her hair stands up, staticky. Sam brushes his fingers over it, just lightly. He doesn’t really try to sort it out, it’s more that he wants to feel the texture under his fingers. To think that once he’d thought he’d never get the chance. To think that he has that chance now.

It’s like she knows what he’s thinking when she looks over at him, eyes full. Full of love, of, confidence, of cherishing. She thinks she’s too calculating, too logical for that. She’s not. He’s the evidence.

There’s snowflakes on her eyelashes, though they are rapidly melting away. He gently brushes the water off of her cheeks, and thinks that maybe snow isn’t completely useless.

Grace orders some random confection neither of them have tried before, something with raspberry and lime. Of course they get their usual—the hot chocolate, made of hot milk and melted chocolate candies.

They take the booth they always take, with the squishy seats, right next to the window.

The raspberry treat turns out to be a macaron. Grace takes the first bite when he won’t, curiosity on her face that blooms into pleasure. She passes him the rest and he feels the same emotions spread through him.

“Good choice,” he tells her.

She nods, shrugs as if to say, “Are you really surprised?” He’s not. She has an eye for the delicious.

It’s gone almost too soon though, and he thinks about buying another.

"Is this a Sam shop?" Grace asks before he can decide either way. She quirks an eyebrow at him from across the table. She rests one foot in between his, and waits, the corner of her mouth curved up in something like amusement.

He shifts his legs until they’re tangled with hers. "I guess so," he says, smiling at her. He takes a drink of hot chocolate, watches her mimic him. “It’s a Grace shop, too.”

She smiles, and a little hot chocolate left on her lower lip shines in the light.

He decides he should probably kiss her now, while the taste of chocolate is still on her tongue, on her lips.

* * *

 

They take another round of hot chocolate for the road, and drink them as leisurely as they drive. The cup holder butts against Grace’s knees when she sits in the middle, so she ends up across the cab, her hand resting between them. When he can, he holds it.

About five minutes into the drive, she cranks up the heater. "We're gonna get so sick," she tells him, but she looks delighted at the prospect, and Sam feels his face fall into that dopey grin he wears around her. Isabel has photographed it before, and it’s always embarrassing. Or would be, if he weren’t completely in love.

* * *

That night, like most nights lately, they wear thermal underwear. Her set is black; he wears a blue set. She usually adds a t-shirt on top, one of his, when she can. When they climb into the bed, Grace curls up halfway on top of him. They shouldn’t even bother to have two pillows, but the bed would probably look weird without hers next to his.

Her deep and even breath blows across his face—years later, she falls asleep first—and he smells her, soft, piney, minty from her toothpaste... _Grace_.

He tightens the thick blankets around them and buries his face in her hair, because he could live a lifetime without anything but the memory of this smell, and still be happy.

* * *

 

In the morning, she's still Grace, and he's still Sam. When he kisses her awake, he imagines he can still taste the hot cocoa in her mouth, and warmth curls in his chest. He can’t really, but the memory of the night before is heady and sweet.

She smiles at him sleepily, and he can see the _Sam_ in her eyes, and he wants to kiss her again, but then Cole pushes the door open and demands that they open the presents he bought them, because this is Christmas, don't they know? "I didn't go shopping for nothing."

Grace pulls him out of bed and holds him close for warmth and comfort. _Don't let go._

_Never_.


End file.
